Am I So Insignificant?
by AlterationLover
Summary: Castiel's gone, but Dean can't stop seeing him everywhere. Short ficlet. According to theliesofeden, this is 'EXTREME ANGST, WATCH OUT FOR YOUR CREYS' so, yeah ;3


Am I So Insignificant?

Dean couldn't stop seeing him in everything. A blue car that drove by made Dean do a double take, reminding him of his eyes. A pedestrian caught at the right moment, taking him back to the way the sun had bathed his marble skin in light, catching delicately on the faint stubble on his face. Even shadows weren't safe, for in each and every one of them the whisper of a wing stood, bringing back painful memories that Dean would much rather forget.

Sam wasn't even there to help. He was off on some job; one Dean had turned down, muttering at the time about needing some time off. Sam hadn't questioned it. Times were hard and lonely, and although Sam probably could have used some backup, Dean just couldn't.

Because Cas was dead. Gone, under the waves, and Dean hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye, to look at those blue eyes one last time before he'd been devoured by the water.

Dean didn't even have a goddamn body to bury. All that remained of what the angel had been was a dirty trench coat, old and worn out from being worn every day. It sat alone in the trunk of the Impala, folded up neatly, delicately, and sometimes if Dean was feeling particularly ignorant, he could pretend that Cas was still there. He could pretend that the angel had just left the overcoat behind for a moment, and would be back before Dean knew it.

But of course all that was a lie; a ploy to make Dean's heart ache even more when he remembered the truth. Cas was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

Sometimes the coat would make its way into the motel room, wrapped tightly in Dean's protecting arms. He would place it under his pillow, in the hope that the angel might appear in his dreams, like he'd done so many countless times before. But there were never any results. Sure, he dreamt of Castiel. But Castiel never visited him. It was just the memory, brought back through the catacombs of his mind, appearing in the form of a hallucination.

But that didn't stop Dean trying. That was why the trench coat was under Dean's pillow once again, and his hand was clutching at the material that made up the sleeve. Tears hadn't come to him in a long time, and that was why, as Dean closed his eyes, they remained dry. Dry and empty, like he'd been feeling for so long.

The dream took him quickly, snatching him away from reality as quickly as if he'd just blinked.

The vision was dark: dark but not cold. In fact, it had no temperature at all. Dean felt as though he was just viewing it through a television screen, gazing upon the dark world ahead of him.

In the centre of the dark was a figure, facing away from Dean. He was wearing a black suit that should have blended into the background, but it didn't. Instead, it seemed to radiate some sort of dark light, and it glowed in the darkness.

As the figure began to turn around, Dean felt as though he was being pushed closer and closer to the man until he was directly behind him.

The man turned around, and instantly Dean knew that this was not like the other hallucinations he'd had before. Cas's eyes were not dulled like they were in his other dreams, but exactly as bright as he'd remembered them, the colour indescribable, and unable to be recreated. He smelled the exact same; the sweet smell of skin marbling with musty clothes and earth, but this time there was something else: dampness, lingering slightly in Dean's nostrils.

"Cas," he whispered, the words lingering on his lips as the angel stared at him with eyes that were just as piercing as Dean remembered them.

"Dean," the angel spoke, and just the sound of his voice reassured Dean that this was real. This wasn't just another dream, another hallucination.

Dean gasped Castiel's name again, and before he could stop himself, he pulled the angel close, wrapping his arms around the man, realizing as he did so that the dark suit that clothed Cas was wet, as though the angel had just emerged from the dark depths of the lake that had swallowed him whole.

Cas did not wrap his arms around Dean, nor did he even really acknowledge him at all. He stood still, arms remaining firmly at his sides, and when Dean pulled away, he noticed that the angel's eyes, too, were as emotionless as the rest of him.

"Cas?" Dean dared to whisper, and he couldn't help but be mesmerized by the way Cas's eyelashes fluttered as he looked down, the way the ghostly light caught them just perfectly.

"You left me, Dean," Cas's voice was harsh, and it cut Dean like a knife, cruel, unkind and unsympathetic.

"Please," Dean breathed, "Please, forgive me, Cas. You have to forgive me, I'm so sorry. You have to come back, Cas, you have to,"

"I'm not coming home, Dean," Castiel turned away, and Dean felt something catch in his throat painfully, "I don't need you anymore,"

Dean had to catch his gasp, swallowing it back excruciatingly.

"Am I that unimportant," he whispered, "That you wouldn't just come back to see me again?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas said, although his voice was still emotionless, "I hope this is the last time we see each other,"

"Well," Dean choked, "If you're going, you might as well have this back,"

And suddenly, the trench coat was in Dean's hands, still warm, as though it still remained under his pillow. He handed it to Castiel, the final picture, the final memory that Cas had been real. The angel took the coat and slipped his arms through the sleeves, and Dean would have smiled, because it was almost like things were like before. But they weren't, and they never would be again.

Cas didn't speak, and Dean's heart ached with all the unsaid words that he should have said, but didn't. But it was too late, because Castiel was walking away, and Dean wouldn't be able to call him back, even if his life depended on it.

The darkness swelled and swallowed Dean until the black turned into the darkness behind his eyelids. He opened his eyes and sat up in his bed. Lifting the pillow, his question was answered: the trench coat was gone, leaving no indication it had ever been there in the first place.

For the first time in so long, Dean felt a small tear fall from between his eyelids.

Epilogue

Cas lowered his head, hands grasping at the trench coat like it was the last thing on earth.

_ It still smelled like Dean._

_ The way the hunter's eyes had burned with pain had almost killed Castiel, but Dean had needed to hear it. He had needed to forget about Castiel, and that was the best kind of closure Cas could think of. Hurt Dean beyond repair, and maybe he would get over the angel. Closure was good._

_ But of course that didn't stop the ugly sobs from coming, and Cas's face scrunched up, buried deep in the material of the coat, tears streaming down his face, the sobs catching in his throat as he breathed heavily, gasping for breath between the tears, and hating himself more and more every passing second._


End file.
